TYPES 


KEITH 
PRESTON 


ALVMNVS  BOOK  FVND 


TYPES  OF  PAN 


TYPES  OF  PAN 


By 
KEITH  PRESTON 


BOSTON  AND  NEW  YORK 

HOUGHTON  MIFFLIN  COMPANY 

MCMXIX 


COPYRIGHT,    1919,    BY    KEITH   PRESTON 
ALL   RIGHTS    RESERVED 


TO  MY  WIFE 



T1 


. 


NOTE 

Acknowledgments  are  due  to  the  Chicago  Tribune,  the  Chicago 
Daily  News,  and  the  New  York  Tribune  for  permission  to  re 
print  verses  which  originally  appeared  in  '*  The  Line  o'  Type," 
"  The  Periscope,"  and  "  The  Conning  Tower  ";  also  to  Reedy' s 
Mirror  for  permission  to  reprint  "Noah,  1919."  KEITH  PRESTON 


CONTENTS 


Shopping  on  Parnassus 3 

The  Ballad  of  Uptodateness 4 

Alice  in  Lyric  Land 5 

Standardization 6 

Our  Defy      ..',... 7 

Ex  Cathedra 7 

After  the  War        8 

Good  Cheer 8 

Variations  on  Horace 9 

Ad  Postumum       10 

Foul  is  Fair 12 

The  Eternal  Conflict 13 

On  Seeing  Things  at  Sea 14 

Songs  of  the  Underworld 14 

To  Cynthia 15 

Bill  Run       16 

To  Alcimus 17 

A  Tangleword  Tale 18 

Swallows .     .  19 

Hydrophobia 20 

To  Heliodora 20 

Ups  and  Downs 21 

Hercules  and  Omphale 22 

Recessional        22 

Pervigilium  Monachi 23 

The  Value  of  Greek 24 

Onomatomancy 25 

Spider  and  Spinner 26 

The  Periscope 

The  Poet  Grouches 27 

Holeproof  Hank 28 

What  do  we  Care? 30 

Live  Interviews  with  Live  Authors 30 

Heroes  of  Fiction :  Tarzan 33 


CONTENTS 


Jack  and  Jill 33 

The  Children's  Encyclopedia 35 

Timely  Topics 36 

The  Bath  Poets 36 

The  Shower  of  Cold 37 

My  Cabinet 38 

Observation 38 

Sorrows  of  a  Prof       39 

The  Exact  Attitude 39 

The  ^Estivation  of  Bores 40 

In  Flapper  Time 40 

To  Peace 41 

Johnny  Comes  Marching  Home        41 

Lacrimae  Rerum 41 

The  Hunting  of  the  Turtle 43 

The  Murman  Coast        ....  44 

The  Two  Brooms       45 

On  the  Spree 45 

An  Ace 46 

The  Sensitive  Superman 46 

The  Navy  Way 47 

The  Hyphenated  Muse       47 

Woodrow,  Spare  that  Treaty 48 

The  German  Way 49 

Foster  Children 49 

Where  shall  we  Lean? 50 

Retrospect 50 

A  German  Noah's  Ark 51 

The  Social  Hour 52 

Mirage 53 

The  Prune  and  the  Prism 54 

Chin  Que  Song 54 

Hook  and  Line 55 

My  Visitant .     .  56 

Divers  Conceits 56 


CONTENTS  XI 


Lines  to  a  Roast  Water  Fowl        57 

Wonders  of  the  West 58 

Ballade  d'Autrefois 59 

On  the  Dry  Seas 60 

To  Central 61 

The  Lost  Art 62 

Reroute  'Em 62 

Sol  Invictus 63 

Love  o'  Trees 64 

July,  1918,  at  Bell,  Michigan 65 

Back  to  Nature 65 

Spinning  our  Span 66 

Our  Cloven  Spoofs 66 

A  Snapshot       67 

The  Bachelor  Clam 67 

Half-Told  Tales 68 

Pierre  1'Hermite 68 

That  Ambiguous  Bird 69 

Sheba 70 

Chanson  de  Pung 71 

Noah,  1919  72 


TYPES  OF  PAN 


What  shall  I  call  my  tiny  wit  ? 
A  pebble  dropped  in  an  endless  pit, 
Striking  those  dark,  unyielding  walls  — 
Bat  tinkling,  tinkling!  as  it  falls. 


TYPES  OF  PAN 


SHOPPING  ON  PARNASSUS 

I  WENT  to  the  Smart  Shop 

Where  words  are  retailed  and  retailored 

For  vers  libre  poets. 

And  they  showed  me  a  tray  of  nouns.  Let  me  see, 

There  were  aloes  and  sandal  and  musk, 

Sea  poppies  and  slit  conch  shells, 

Anemones  and  algae, 

Spume  and  spray; 

There  were  heights  and  depths,  throes  and  thrills, 

rouge 
And  drabs. 

And  they  showed  me  a  tray  of  adjectives,  drooping- 
Shouldered,  half-virginal,  wind-scattered,  draped, 
Undraped,  ruffle-skirted,  wan-green,  ochre,  yes, 
And  drab. 

And  I  passed  up  the  verbs  and  asked 
To  see  the  thoughts, 
But, 

So  they  told  me,  they  were  all  out; 
There  was  no  demand; 
I  might  find  what  I  wanted 
In  the  notions. 


TYPES  OF  PAN 


THE  BALLAD  OF  UPTODATENESS 

WHERE  are  the  nuts  of  a  bygone  day 
That  showed  old  Horace  the  modern  way, 
That  pulled  for  Art  with  a  capital  A? 

Where,  oh,  where  are  they? 
They  left  not  so  much  as  a  busted  lyre, 
But  maybe  they  sing  in  the  heavenly  choir. 

Where  are  the  hazels  of  long  ago 

That  called  Bill  Shakespeare  effete  and  low, 

That  did  big  things  that  were  sure  to  grow? 

Where,  oh,  where  are  they? 
Nobody  knows  of  a  single  one, 
But  maybe  they  write  for  the  Zion  Sun. 

Where  are  the  filberts  of  yesteryear, 
That  were  far  too  good  for  the  public  here? 
Maybe  they  bow  while  the  angels  cheer, 

And  maybe  they  don't. 
Maybe  they  do  and  maybe  they  don't, 
But  we  know  some  now  that  we're  blame  sure 
won't. 


ALICE   IN   LYRIC   LAND 


ALICE  IN  LYRIC  LAND 

IN  lyric  fields  when  Alice  roams, 

The  brooklets  croon,  the  gloaming  gloams, 

There 's  sheen  o'  star  and  shine  o'  moon, 

Spun  gossamer  and  velvet  June, 

When  Alice  dons  her  silver  shoon, 

And  opes  the  mystic  door  to  me 

That  answers  to  her  mystic  key. 

When  Alice  strolls  in  lyric  land 
One  hears  the  full  cicada  band, 
And  sweet,  above  their  strident  blare, 
So  sad,  so  shy  upon  the  air, 
Half  virginal  and  wholly  fair  — 
When  Alice  nears  the  lyric  wood 
That  hermit  thrush  is  going  good. 

When  Alice  walks  in  lyric  lane, 

The  faery  folk  all  live  again, 

She  hears  their  elfin  music  faint, 

She  sees  them  trying  to  be  quaint, 

Sometimes  they  are,  sometimes  they  ain't: 

But  anyhow,  they  do  then-  best, 

And  little  Alice  does  the  rest. 


6  TYPES    OF   PAN 


STANDARDIZATION 

I  WENT  to  the  Book  Yards  — 

The  Pot-Boiler  Works 

Some  call  it  — 

Where  next  year's  best  sellers 

Are  in  the  stocks. 

And  there  I  saw  four  and  twenty 

Book  Wrights  assembling 

Standardized  parts. 

They  showed  me  piles  of  green  timber,  Western 

stuff, 

Of  course,  some  sticks  already  cut  and  dried  for 
Heroes  and  heroines,  perfect  thirty-sixes; 
All  they  have  to  do  is 
Match  'em  and  splice  'em. 
And  they  showed  me  the  plates, 
Interchangeable  to  fit 
Any  situation. 

And  I  thought  of  the  high  cost 

Of  torpedoes : 

"What's  one  periscope,"  thought  I, 

"Among  so  many?"  but  anyhow,  I  swore 

To  do  my  damnedest. 


EX   CATHEDRA 


OUR  DEFY 

Horace,  Satires,  I,  4,  187  sq. 
Ubi  quid  datur  oti  inludo  chartis 

SOME  ride,  some  golf,  some  bridge,  some  bibble: 

When  I  have  time  to  burn  I  scribble, 

In  lightest  vein  and,  maybe,  poorly  — 

This  is  a  fatal  foible  surely. 

It  pains  you,  friend?  You  hate  it?  Yes? 

I'll  sound  the  poet's  S.O.S. 

For  we  are  thick  'round  here  as  leaves 

Upon  the  upas  tree  or  thieves. 

We  do  not  ask  you  to  admire: 

Respect  our  numbers  or  retire. 

Ex  CATHEDRA 

Horace,  Odes,  I,  29 
led,  beatis  nunc  Arabum  invides 

WELL,  Doctor,  who  'd  have  thought  you  were  the  one 
To  grudge  his  swag  to  the  uncanny  Hun, 
To  grab  a  bomb  and  hike  amid  the  vulgar 
Against  the  bloody  Turk,  the  Boche,  the  Bulgar? 

What  round-eyed  Gretchen  sadly  soon  will  see 
Her  schatz  dissected  by  a  Ph.D.? 
What  Prussian  Lieut  reluctantly  will  lug  out 
For  you  the  looted  tipple  from  his  dug-out? 


8  TYPES  OF  PAN 

Who  can  deny  that  U-boats  may  contain 
Life-saving  crews  and  bless  the  harmless  main? 
Or  on  the  senate  service  flag  appear 
A  star  for  La  Follette,  their  volunteer?  — 

When  Elzevirs  and  Aldines,  too,  you  sell, 
Those  books  you  bought  so  dear  and  loved  so  well, 
Your  hood  and  gown,  scholastic  panoplies, 
To  pay  for  khaki  and  to  buy  puttees? 

AFTER  THE  WAR 

Horace,  Odes,  III,  i4 

RUN,  boy,  some  cigarettes,  cork  tips;  and  say! 
A  bottle,  too,  laid  down  before  The  Day, 
That  'i3  vintage,  boy,  if  there  be  one  — 
An  embusque  that  dodged  the  thirsty  Hun. 

GOOD  CHEER 

Horace,  Epod.  2,  53  sq. 
Non  Afra  avis  descendat  in  ventrem  mewn 

No  Guinea  fowl  (don't  dare  to  ask  it) 

Shall  nestle  down  in  my  bread  basket, 

Till  now  eupeptic; 

No  turkey  taste  shall  gobble  me 

To  atrabilious  penury, 

A  sad  old  skeptic. 


VARIATIONS   ON   HORACE  9 

I  find  that  hominy  and  rice 
Or  peas  and  pulse  are  very  nice, 
And  cheap  besides; 
I  need  no  doc  my  pulse  to  test, 
My  pangs  appease,  for  all  is  rest 
In  my  insides. 

So  —  one  more  thing  for  me  to  rime  on  — 
At  simple  life  I  'm  Simple  Simon; 
The  feed  man  stops  by  every  day 
And  so  I  munch  dull  care  away; 
And  so  may  all  of  you  that  see 
This  homily  on  hominy. 

VARIATIONS  ON  HORACE 

HERE'S  a  slap  for  fickle  Pyrrha 
And  the  thorns  her  roses  wear, 

Pity  for  the  lad  that 's  tangled 
In  the  meshes  of  her  hair. 

Doting  fool,  his  hopes  will  founder 
As  the  winds  awake  that  sleep, 

Now  the  catspaw  that  caresses, 
Then  the  black  and  angry  deep. 


10  TYPES   OF   PAN 

Happy  thou,  to  sit  in  safety 
High  and  dry  upon  the  shore, 

Fling  thy  dripping  weeds  to  Neptune, 
Chase  the  golden  girl  no  more, 

Yet,  I  fear  me,  should  she  sparkle, 
Should  she  smile  again  for  thee, 

Thou  wouldst  trim  thy  shattered  pinnace 
And  put  out  again  to  sea. 

AD  POSTUMUM 

Horace,  Odes,  II,  1 4 
Eheufugaces,  Poslume,  Postume 

AH,  me,  how  fleet  they  go, 

0  Postumus,  my  Postumus, 
The  gliding  years;  no  piety 
Stays  wrinkled  age  for  you  and  me, 
Nor  death  indomitable. 

Not  if  each  passing  day 

You  slay  three  hecatombs  of  bulls 
To  tearless  Pluto  that  still  holds 
Sad  Tityos  in  thrall  and  folds 

Thrice  ample  Geryon 


AD   POSTUMUM  11 

Within  that  dolorous  tide 

Not  wide,  that  each  and  all  must  sail, 
Yea,  whosoever  eats  earth's  fare 
The  rich  lord  of  a  county  there, 

Or  needy  tenantry. 

In  vain  we  shun  red  war, 

The  roar  of  Adriatic  waves ; 
In  vain  through  autumn  days  we  fear 
That  death  that  haunts  the  dying  year, 

The  pestilent  Sirocco. 

Visit  we  must  the  black, 
The  slack  meandering  stream, 

The  cursed  spawn  of  Danaus, 

With  ^Eolus'  son  Sisyphus 
To  lingering  labor  damned. 

Leave  them  you  must,  the  soil, 
The  toil,  the  home,  the  wife  you  love, 

And  of  a-many  trees  you  tend 

But  the  dark  cypress  at  the  end 
Shall  shade  its  short-lived  master. 

An  heir  shall  drain  the  lees 
That  keys  an  hundred  ward  to-day, 


TYPES   OF   PAN 


And  stain  your  pavements  with  the  drip 
Of  wines  still  prouder  than  men  sip 
At  pontificial  banquets. 

FOUL  is  FAIR 

Horace,  Odes,  2,  8 
Ulla  si  iuris  tibi  peierati 

IF  broken  vows  would  make,  my  Flossie, 
Your  teeth  less  white,  your  nails  less  glossy, 
I  might  believe  this  stuff  about 
How  all  our  sins  will  find  us  out. 

You  give  your  promise,  "hope  to  die," 
And  grow  more  lovely  as  you  lie  ; 
And  when  you  walk  the  avenue 
The  whole  durn  town  runs  after  you. 

You  pledge  the  plot  where  mother  lies, 
The  stilly  night,  the  stars,  the  skies, 
The  blessed  gods  that  live  alway; 
You  lie  and  lie  and  make  it  pay. 

Yes,  Venus  chuckles  in  her  sleeve, 
The  Graces  laugh  as  you  deceive, 
Fierce  Cupid  whets  his  darts  and  smiles. 
(He  makes  munitions  for  your  wiles!) 


THE   ETERNAL  CONFLICT  13 

Then,  too,  the  cradle  feeds  your  hopper; 
The  yearlings  flock  to  come  a  cropper. 
Your  graduates  can't  bear  to  quit, 
Though  they  have  often  threatened  it. 

You  scare  the  pater  and  the  mater, 
For  fear  their  lamb  will  see  you  later. 
And  brides  keep  hubby  tied,  they  say, 
For  fear  you  '11  whistle  him  away. 

THE  ETERNAL  CONFLICT 

Horace,  Odes,  II,  i,  29-^0 
Quis  non  Latino  sanguine  pinguior 

WHAT  field  is  not  more  fat  with  Latin  blood, 
Scarred  with  new  graves  where  warring  legions 
thrust? 

The  Orient  listens  breathless  for  a  thud, 
Europe  that  topples  in  the  western  dust. 

What  lake  unchoked,  what  river  running  free, 
Now  that  the  carnage  spreads  beyond  the  land? 

Our  blood  incarnadines  the  furthest  sea, 
Blood  of  our  sons  is  spilled  upon  the  sand. 

But  stay,  my  Muse,  light,  laughter-loving  jade, 
Touch  not  the  Cean  dirge;  be  gay,  be  witty. 

Dally  a  while  with  me  beneath  the  shade, 
Pick  me  a  prancing  pizzicato  ditty. 


14  TYPES   OF  PAN 

ON  SEEING  THINGS  AT  SEA 

Horace,  Odes,  I,  3 
Qui  siccis  oculis  monstra  natantia 

"WHAT  form  of  death  feared  he 
That  first  beheld  dry-eyed 
Sea  monsters  swimming?" 
Such  Flaccus'  question. 
Well,  I  should  say  that  we 
Would  call  that  guy  pie-eyed 
From  bumpers  brimming, 
Or  indigestion. 

SONGS  OF  THE  UNDERWORLD 

Horace,  Odes,  2,  i3,  21  sq. 
Quam  psenefurvse  rcgna  Proserpinae 

WHERE  burning  Sappho  sings  her  song 
In  Hades,  no  one  listens  long; 
Their  life,  no  doubt,  is  hot  enough 
Without  that  calorific  stuff. 
The  shades  all  push  and  crowd  't  is  said 
To  hear  Alcaeus  wake  the  dead 
With  martial  cadences  as  catchy 
And  twice  as  ancient  as  Pagliacci. 

So  Horace  sang,  but  now,  we  fancy, 
He's  wiser  in  his  necromancy. 


TO   CYNTHIA  15 


Suppose  that  snappy  stuff  like  Al's 
Goes  bigger  here  than  Dick  Le  Gal's ; 
On  that  side  Styx  all  heads  are  clear, 
There  is  no  bone  from  ear  to  ear. 
Those  necropolitan  elite, 
The  Plutocrats  of  Pluto  street, 
Have  learned  a  thing  or  two  we  know 
From  all  the  clever  folk  below. 
They  know  Falernian  and  Massic, 
How  Pegasus  annexed  the  Classic, 
And  Hercules  caused  quite  a  fuss 
By  tying  cans  to  Cerberus. 
Ah,  yes,  friend  Horace,  I  dare  swear, 
Your  Sapphics  get  a  hand  down  there. 

To  CYNTHIA 

Propertius,  I,  2 
Quid  iuvat  ornalo  procedere,  vita,  capillo 

TELL  me,  why  those  Pickford  curls, 
And  that  sheer  Georgette? 

They  might  make  another  girl, 
But,  dear,  don't  forget, 

Nature  turned  you  out  a  star 
Frills  can  only  dim ; 


16  TYPES   OF   PAN 


Cupid's  costumes  simple  are, 
Take  a  tip  from  him. 

See  how  colors  light  the  field, 

Ivy  twines  unsought, 
Lonely  grots  arbutus  yield, 

Brooklets  run  untaught. 

Nature  strews  the  tinted  pebbles, 

Gems  on  every  beach, 
Gives  the  birds  that  artless  treble 

None  could  ever  teach. 

I  would  not,  to  spoil  your  fun, 
Spring  the  green-eyed  stuff; 

But  a  girl  that  pleases  one 
Is  dolled  up  enough. 

BILL  RUN 

Martial,  I,  79 

BILL  used  to  run  for  president,  he  was  a  poor  excuse; 

Bill  ran  the  state  department  till  Bill  ran  out  of  juice. 

Then  William  was  a  pacifist  and  running  like  a  rab 
bit, 

He  ran  himself  into  the  ground  and  broke  that  run 
ning  habit. 


TO   ALCIMUS  17 


To  ALCIMUS 

Martial,  I,  88 
Alcime,  quern  raptum  domino  crescentibus  annis 

ALCIMUS,  lost  to  thy  master  at  the  dawn  of  thy 

young  day, 
Now  the  sod  lies  light  upon  you  where  you  rest  beside 

the  way. 
Take  from  me  no  gift  of  marble,  stone  of  Paros, 

builded  high, 
Idle  tribute  to  thy  ashes,  doomed  to  topple  by  and 

by, 

But  the  pliant  box,  the  shadows  of  the  close  protect 
ing  vine, 

And  the  green,  green  grass  above  you,  still  bedewed 
with  tears  of  mine. 

Take,  dear  lad,  this  simple  record  of  thy  loving  mas 
ter's  pain; 

With  each  rising  generation  Alcimus  shall  live  again. 

When  the  grim  relentless  spinner  shall  have  spun  my 
final  thread, 

Even  so  may  I  be  gathered  to  my  place  among  the 
dead. 


18  TYPES   OF   PAN 


A  TANGLEWORD  TALE 

Ovid,  Met.  V,  385  sq. 
PLUTO,  in  his  big  buzz  wagon, 
Long  and  low,  without  a  tag  on, 
With  no  license  to  be  there, 
Met  Persephone  the  fair, 
Picking  flowers  in  childish  play 
By  the  primrose  paths  in  May, 
On  the  flowery  ways  of  Henna  — 
Recking  little  of  Gehenna. 

So  he  stopped  and  begged  a  posy, 
Took  her  in  and  made  her  cozy  — 
Gave  'er  gas  and  hit  on  six 
To  the  seamy  side  of  Styx, 
Where  that  car,  as  bubbles  will, 
Gave  the  trusting  maid  a  spill. 

So  she  queans  it  now  in  Hades, 
'Mid  those  other  shady  ladies; 
And  she 's  picking  flowers  of  sulphur 
Where  the  netherlands  engulf  her. 
Nothing  seems  to  matter  much  — 
Gasoline  put  her  in  Dutch. 


SWALLOWS  19 


You  may  ask  why  poor  Demeter 
When  no  Persy  ran  to  meet  her, 
Did  not  go  to  the  police 
(For  they  had  a  force  in  Greece). 
Well,  she  found  that  Pluto's  pull 
Was  too  much  for  any  bull; 
Pluto's  word  was  law,  they  tell  us, 
In  the  underworld  of  Hellas. 

SWALLOWS 

From  the  Greek  of  Agathius  Scholaslicus 
ALL  the  night  I  toss  and  fret, 
With  the  dawn  I  half  forget, 
But  those  swallows,  everlasting, 
Twitter  roundabout  me  casting 
Tear  drops  in  my  waking  eye, 
Pushing  sweetest  slumber  by; 
And  I  weep  upon  the  rack 
For  Rodanthe  that  I  lack. 
Cease,  ye  jealous  babblers,  cease! 
Let  me  lose  myself  in  peace. 
'T  was  not  I,  you  know  it  well, 
Tore  the  tongue  from  Philomel; 
Scold  that  wicked  hoopoe  sitting 
'Mid  the  lonely  hills  or  flitting 


20  TYPES  OF  PAN 

Through  the  wilderness  lament 
Itylus,  with  my  consent. 
Let  me  sleep,  to  dream,  maybe, 
That  Rodanthe  clings  to  me. 

HYDROPHOBIA 

From  the  Greek  of  Paulas  Silentiarius 
SOBER  men  by  mad  dogs  bitten 
With  that  water  fear  are  smitten, 
See  in  cup  or  pool,  't  is  said, 
Horrid  shapes  and  faces  dread. 
So,  my  dear,  when  first  you  met  me 
Cupid  tripped  me  and  upset  me, 
Wicked  little  nipper,  he, 
Sank  a  poisoned  tooth  in  me, 
Made  me  hydrophobiac  — 
Aqua  pura  brings  you  back. 

To  HELIODORA 

From  the  Greek  of  Meleager 

POUR!  and  again  and  again,  yet  again,  cry  "Helio- 
dora!" 

Pledge,  with  the  wine  that  we  sip,  blending  her  name 
on  the  lip: 

Deck  me  with  myrrh-moist  roses,  a  chaplet  from  yes 
terday's  revels, 


UPS   AND    DOWNS 


Lingering  blossoms  that  stir  wistful  remembrance  of 

her. 
Look,  how  the  bright  drops  mantle  the  roses,  famil 

iars  of  lovers, 
Tears  for  the  waste  of  her  charms,  vanished  away 

from  my  arms. 

UPS  AND  DOWNS 
From  the  Palatine  Anthology 
YOUR  paunch  is  round  and  near  the  ground, 

Your  neck  is  long  and  slender, 
The  notes  that  gurgle  from  your  throat 
Are  musical  and  tender. 

I  thirst  for  your  companionship, 

My  jolly  old  decanter, 
So  full  of  quips  and  quaint  conceits 

And  pleasantries  and  banter. 

But  tell  me,  gossip,  why  when  I 

Am  dry,  you  full  of  sherry, 
Your  spirits  sink  the  more  I  drink, 

And  ebb  as  I  grow  merry. 


TYPES   OF   PAN 


HERCULES  AND  OMPHALE 

ORIENTAL  charmer,  she,  vulgarly,  a  vamp  ; 

Virile  and  red-blooded,  he,  we  should  say,  a  champ. 

Poets  tell  us  how  she  fished,  wily  Omphale! 

Caught  and  used  him  as  she  wished,  in  her  knittery  ; 

How  he  humbly  held  the  wool,  at  the  lady's  knees, 
Tried  the  helmet  on  for  her,  Doting  Hercules  1 

RECESSIONAL 

MAIDS  of  Athens  trod  thy  presses 
With  the  vine  leaves  in  their  tresses, 
Flushing  hot  to  thy  caresses, 
Dionysus. 

Thou  wert  prompter  on  the  stages 
Of  the  old  heroic  ages; 
Witness  Alexander's  rages 
Back  in  Susa. 

Maenads  danced  to  thee  dishevelled, 
Lavish  Cleopatra  revelled, 
Nero  fiddled  and  bedevilled 
Burning  Rome. 


PERVIGILIUM  MONACHI  23 

While  thy  rhabdomancy  held, 
Rockbound  springs  of  fancy  welled, 
Lyrics  flowered  and  poets  swelled, 
Dithyrambic. 

We  have  loved  thee  for  thy  lotus, 
Thy  Sargasso  seas  that  float  us, 
Honeyed  philtres  that  devote  us 
To  fond  phrensy. 

Now  we  know  the  dulcet  uses 
Of  the  unfermented  juices, 
We  have  fathomed  all  thy  ruses, 
Barleycorn. 

Yes,  to  close  this  salmagundi 
In  the  age  of  Billy  Sundae, 
Mr.  Bryan,  Mrs.  Grundy,  — 
Thou  art  done. 

PERVIGILIUM  MONACHI 

Cras  amet  qui  numquam  amavil,  quique  amavit  eras  amet 
HYMN  of  Cypris,  Aphrodite,  golden  litany  of  love, 
Haunting  challenge  of  the  wanton,  of  the  serpent  to 
the  dove; 


24  TYPES   OF   PAN 

Did  that  old  grey  monk  who  traced  it,  handing  on 

the  lilting  line, 
See  the  myrtle  and  the  dancers,  feel  the  swirl  of  love 

and  wine? 
Did  it  warm  a  lonely  vigil  in  his  cold  grey  cell  of 

stone, 
Lifting  him  above  his  Credo  and  the  masses  he  would 

drone? 

Cras  amet  qui  numquam  amavit  quique  amavit  eras 

amet  — 
If  our  monk  had  known  the  Latin,  would  the  song  be 

living  yet? 

Was  his  labor  penitential,  in  a  chain  of  daily  screeds, 
Did  he  do  it  for  Religion,  telling  out  the  lines  as 

beads? 

Yes,  I  often  idly  wonder,  often  think  of  him  as  odd, 
Handing  down  the  torch  of  Venus  to  the  glory  of  his 

God. 

THE  VALUE  OF  GREEK 

Now  Huxley  once  wrote  to  an  artist, 
"To  aid  my  researches,  dear  friend,  — 

I  ask  in  the  interests  of  science,  — 
How  far  down  do  blushes  extend?" 


ONOMATOMANCY  25 

Had  Huxley  been  wise  to  his  Homer, 

The  earliest  bird  of  the  Greeks, 
He  need  not  have  begged  for  this  info 

That  held  up  his  studies  for  weeks. 

For  Homer  got  up  with  the  chickens, 
And,  watching  Miss  Dawn  as  she  rose, 

Has  left  as  a  matter  of  record 
The  singular  pink  of  her  toes. 

ONOMATOMANCY 

THE  urge  of  the  midge  to  the  flame, 

Is  naught  to  the  lure  of  a  handle; 
The  mind  is  a  fluttering  moth 

And  a  name  is  the  perilous  candle. 

I  know  names  that  are  smoother  than  silk, 
And  names  that  are  softer  than  butter ; 

I  know  names  that  are  perfectly  sweet, 
And  names  that  are  utterly  utter. 

If  Cleo  had  only  been  Liz 

Her  beauty  would  not  have  distraught  me. 
If  Flo  had  been  Irma  her  phiz 

Would  never,  no  never,  have  caught  me. 


26  TYPES   OF  PAN 

Oh  Min!  When  I  hear  it  I  wince! 

Maria  may  rank  as  a  charmer; 
But  her  monicker  makes  her  a  quince: 

A  name  is  the  joint  in  my  armor  1 

SPIDER  AND  SPINNER 

ARACHNE  spins  a  gauzy  net 

That  floats  and  shimmers  on  the  lawn; 
By  noon  that  web  is  fouled  and  rent 

Which  hung  so  perfect  at  the  dawn; 
And  when  the  wind  of  evening  stirs, 

Arachne's  gossamers  are  gone. 
Arachne,  as  no  doubt  you  guess, 
Arachne  is  the  daily  press. 

Grave  Clio  weaves  through  circling  years 
Her  age-enduring  tapestry, 

Of  threads  of  gold  and  gossamer, 
The  warp  and  woof  of  history ; 

But  since  her  threads  she  filches  from 
Arachne's  webs,  't  is  hard  to  see 

Where  ends  the  web  Arachne  spins, 

Where  Clio's  filament  begins. 


THE  PERISCOPE 
Being  a  Menippean  Satire  on  the  Book  World  0/1918 

THE  POET  GROUCHES 
A  vamp  on  "  Tommy" 

I  WENT  into  a  publisher's  to  sell  a  batch  o'  verse, 
The  publisher  'e  up  an'  sez,  "Go  out  an'  hire  a 

hearse!" 
The  gals  that  can  the  manuscrips,  they  giggled  fit  to 

die, 
I  outs  into  the  street  again  and  to  myself  says  I: 

Oh,  it's  Private  this,  an'  Buddy  that,  an'  "Rush  'im 

through  the  press!" 
For  it's  'e  that  made  the  publisher  that  made  the 

lucky  guess, 
An'  it 's  Tommy  this,  Leftenant  that,  print  anything 

you  please! 
An'  forty  publishers  stand  by  while  Tommy  taps  the 

keys. 

Best  swap  your  nom  de  plume  for  a  nom 
de  guerre. 


28  TYPES  OF  PAN 

HOLEPROOF  HANK 

COME  gather  round  old  "Holeproof  Hank," 
The  only  living  human  tank ; 
Who  spins  a  yarn  of  bullet  blocking, 
The  best  since  Cooper's  Leather  Stocking. 

When  first  I  showed  my  happy  knack, 
They  laid  a  target  on  my  back, 
And  thousands  clapped  for  this  recruity 
Who  shed  a  bullet  like  a  cootie. 

That  holeproof  name  already  mine, 
I  reached  the  western  firing  line. 
The  whole  Hun  host  looked  on  embattled 
To  see  the  human  pill  box  rattled. 

Machine  guns  cackled  in  their  nest, 
The  bullets  beat  upon  my  breast, 
Boche  riflemen  were  firing  densely  — 
It  really  tickled  me  immensely. 

Their  field  guns  firing  open  sights, 
Scored  hits  direct  like  chigger  bites. 
But  though  outflanked  and  enfiladed, 
I  took  those  trenches  all  unaided. 


THE   PERISCOPE  29 

Just  then  a  German  heavy  roared. 
The  shell  burst  under  me,  I  soared. 
And  as  I  started  swiftly  dropping 
I  heard  the  aircraft  guns  a-popping. 

Thanks  be  to  Bill  and  Bertha  Krupp, 
The  bally  shrapnel  buoyed  me  up. 
And  parachuting  lightly  down, 
I  organized  the  captured  town. 

"And  this  is  where,"  said  Holeproof  Hank, 
"  I  get  my  air  of  martial  swank, 
That  none  has  earned  so  well  as  I  — 
Not  Private  Peat  or  Arthur  Guy." 

SOMETIMES  we  sigh  for  a  recrudescence  of 
the  lampoon  in  literature  and  when  we  get 
it  —  it  is  too  crude.  A  pasquinade  recently 
published  in  Reedy's  Mirror  slams  an  eas 
ily  recognizable  poetess  on  three  counts, 
lack  of  poise  ("She  was  nervous  as  a  hor 
net"),  surplus  of  avoirdupois  ("Then  we 
saw  the  fat  woman")  and  a  penchant  for 
corpulent  cheroots  ("She  was  smoking  a 
cigar  as  big  as  a  rolling  pin").  To  all  of 
which  we  should  reply: 


30  TYPES  OF  PAN 


WHAT  DO  WE  CARE? 

WHAT  do  we  care  for  the  sort  of  mesh 
If  a  soul  pulsates  in  that  pulp  of  flesh. 
What  do  we  care? 

What  do  we  care  for  the  huge  cigar, 
If  the  spark  of  it  be  a  guiding  star, 
What  do  we  care? 

What  do  we  care  for  the  size,  indeed? 
It's  not  the  wrapper  that  makes  the  weed  - 
Was  the  filler  grown  from  a  precious  seed? 
What  do  we  care? 

LIVE  INTERVIEWS  WITH  LIVE  AUTHORS 

I 

The  Piqua  Pioneer 

"DAMN  the  Kaiser?"  said  Dr.  Davis  in 
a  recent  interview.  "Yes,  I  may  fairly 
claim  to  have  originated  the  expression." 
Reaching  for  a  copy  of  "The  Kaiser  as 
I  Knew  Him,"  Dr.  Davis  produced  from 
between  the  leaves  a  square  of  rubber  of 
the  sort  known  to  adepts  as  a  dentist's 
dam. 

"This  is  the  original  article,"  continued 


THE   PERISCOPE  31 

the  doctor,  displaying  to  the  astonished 
reviewer  the  actual  impressions  of  the  im 
perial  teeth. 

"It  is  true  that  in  vulgar  parlance  the 
phrase  has  become,  apparently,  more 
drastic,  but  I  assure  you,  sir"  —  the  doc 
tor  smiled  wickedly  —  "as  pronounced 
by  me  it  spelled  more  discomfort  for  Wil 
liam  than  he  will  find  in  the  future  state." 

"Is  it  correct,"  asked  the  reporter, 
"  that  upon  coming  out  from  an  appoint 
ment  with  you  the  Kaiser  told  Von  Beth- 
mann-Hollweg  he  had  never  been  so  bored 
in  his  life?" 

"Well,"  said  the  doctor,  with  a  remi 
niscent  smile,  "I  cleaned  out  three  cavi 
ties  that  afternoon  —  and  Bill  always  did 
hate  the  buzzer." 

II 

Joseph  Hergesheimer 

"WHAT  is  your  favorite  line  of  poetry, 
Mr.  Hergesheimer?"  began  our  reporter 
tentatively.  His  jaw  dropped  as  the  noted 
author  quoted  sharply: 


32  TYPES   OF   PAN 

"'Hark,  hark!  The  dogs  do  bark.'" 

At  this  moment  a  distant  barking  be 
came  audible,  which  increased  in  rapid 
crescendo  and  ended  in  a  scratching  at  the 
door. 

"Oh,  the  Airedales,"  reflected  the  re 
lieved  reporter,  and  repeated  his  opening 
gambit. 

"Beg  pardon,"  said  Mr.  Hergesheimer. 
"You  were  saying?" 

"  What  is  your  favorite  line  of  poetry?" 

The  novelist  reflected. 

"Amy  Lowell  has  a  good  line,"  said  he. 

"  Only  one?  "  asked  the  reporter  densely. 

The  novelist  smiled  tolerantly.  "  I  refer 
to  her  commercial  'line'  —  poets  are  very 
commercial  people,  you  know  —  her  poeti 
cal  effects  or  goods  and  chattels,  as  the 
lawyers  would  phrase  it.  Speaking  poeti 
cally,  Miss  Lowell  has  added  a  new  muse 
to  the  old  choir,  Polyphonia.  I  am  poly- 
phonious  myself;  Mr.  Burton  Rascos  has 
said  it.  He  is  my  poetical  discoverer." 

"Yes,"  said  the  reporter,  "Jones  never 
thought  of  that-,  but,  Mr.  Hergesheimer, 


THE   PERISCOPE 

are  we  to  understand  that  Miss  Lowell  has 
influenced  your  poetic  development?" 

"No,"  returned  the  author  thought 
fully.  "  I  am  not  exactly  in  the  position  of 
Pope,  who  *  lisped  in  numbers,  for  the 
numbers  came.'  If  I  write  in  numbers  I 
owe  it,  I  think,  to  my  early  habit  of  serial 
publication." 

HEROES  OF  FICTION 

Tarzan 

How  many  thousand  readers  greet 
Tarzan,  half  ape,  but  incomplete, 
And  wait,  with  interest  never  stale, 
For  sequels  to  complete  his  taill 

If  sales  a  trusty  index  be, 
Of  vogue  and  popularity  — 
A  fact  you  simply  can't  escape  — 
The  apex  goes  to  this  ex-ape. 

JACK  AND  JILL 
OUR  "Jack  and  Jill,"  that  simple  tale, 

How  Mother  Goose  did  slight  itl 
Ah,  how  her  careless  lines  would  pale 

If  H.  G.  Wells  should  write  itl 


34  TYPES   OF   PAN 

First  take  the  hour  when  Jack  was  born, 
How  anxious  papa  waited ; 

Describe  that  age  with  bitter  scorn; 
Tell  how  Jack's  parents  mated. 

Then  analyze  Jack's  infant  bean, 
Recount  his  careful  schooling; 

Sketch  Jill's  arrival  on  the  scene, 
And  paint  their  childish  fooling. 

State  how  the  buckets  were  procured; 

(Describe  a  bucket  shop.) 
Show  how  the  ill-starred  pair  were  lured 

To  tempt  the  fatal  drop. 

Give  all  the  croakings  ere  the  spill; 

The  words  of  faithful  granny, 
Depict  the  aspect  of  that  hill 

With  every  coign  and  cranny. 

Tell  how  they  clambered  up  the  slope, 

Observing  all  the  strata, 
And  canvassed  England's  future  hope, 

With  economic  data. 


THE   PERISCOPE  35 

Say  how  the  first  misstep  was  Jill's, 
Poor  Jack  fell  down  like  Adam ; 

They  hit  the  road  beneath  the  hill 
(The  pavement  was  macadam). 

THE  CHILDREN'S  ENCYCLOPEDIA 
"!T  puts  the  children  over  the  top," 
says  the  Grolier  Club  of  "The  Book  of 
Knowledge,"  an  encyclopedia  for  chil 
dren.  Now,  this,  we  had  supposed,  was  a 
special  function  of  the  late  German  cen 
tral  staff. 

"  It  answers  every  question  a  child  can 
ask,"  continues  the  advertisement,  pro 
pounding  the  following  specimens: 

1.  How  many  worlds  are  there? 

2.  Can   anything   travel   faster   than 
thought? 

3.  Will  the  world  ever  stop  spinning? 

4.  Why  does  an  iceberg  float? 

5.  How  does  alcohol  affect  the  brain? 

6.  How  does  a  cow  make  its  milk? 

How  would  you  answer  these  conun 
drums?  Offhand,  we  would  guess  as  fol 
lows: 


36  TYPES   OF   PAN 

1.  "One  too  many  for  me,"  says  the 
kaiser. 

2.  Rumor. 

3.  No,  now  that  we  have  removed  the 
German  monkey  wrench. 

4.  Because  it  can't  swim. 

5.  It  turns  the  gray  matter  rosy. 

6.  Like  mother  used  to  make  it. 

TIMELY  TOPICS 
To  the  Boston  Transcript 
THANKS  brother,  for  that  ink  you  spilt  on 
How  Grub  street  changed  its  name  to  Milton. 
But  how,  dear  Transcript  —  there's  the  rub  — 
Change  my  Mil  tonic  stuff  to  grub? 

THE  BATH  POETS 

SOME  day  the  bath  poets  will  be  as  famous 
as  the  lake  poets.  The  "Bath  Classics" 
will  no  doubt  have  an  introductory  chap 
ter  on  Alderman  John  Coughlin  of  Chi 
cago.  Some  readers  may  perhaps  remember 
his  poem,  "Dear  Midnight  of  Love," 
which,  with  its  fine  Turkish  flavor,  made 
"The  Bath"  founder  of  this  school.  Then 


THE   PERISCOPE  37 

there  was  Amy  Lowell's  iridescent  effusion 
on  her  tub.  From  the  same  tap  is  drawn 
Miss  Charlotte  Eaton's  "The  Bath" 
("  Desire."  By  Charlotte  Eaton.  Duffield 
&Co.  1918): 

Without  aid  of  soaps,  or  sweet  smelling  lotion, 
Each  day  do  I  bathe  in  the  clear  Croton  water, 
Remaining  submerged  for  long,  that  my  body  may 

absorb  its  invigorating  properties. 
Stretched  at  ease  —  singing  to  myself  —  or  exercising 

for  mere  delight  in  untrammeled  action,  etc. 

But  for  sheer  bathos  we  dare  say  none 
of  the  bath  poets  has  attained  the  success 
of  our  staff  poetess,  Miss  Aphro  Diziac. 
Here  is  one  of  her  quieter  poems  in  the 
classic  vein: 

,  The  Shower  of  Cold 
AT  morning  in  my  turret  room 

I  stand,  like  Danae  of  old, 
Expectant  for  the  amorous  shower: 

O  Zeus!  the  water's  cold! 

But  we  like  better  her  airy  vaporing, 


38  TYPES  OF  PAN 

"My  Cabinet,"  which  has  the  warmth 
and  fervor  of  live  steam: 

My  Cabinet 

How  warm  I  am  when  you  have  clipped  me  round, 
Head  in  the  clouds  and  feet  upon  the  ground: 
Dull  days  may  come  and  Death  may  cross  my  path. 
Yet  you  were  mine,  my  own,  my  vapor  bath! 

We  should  like  to  quote  further,  espe 
cially  from  her  longer  poems.  "The  Alco 
hol  Rub"  and  "The  Hot  Room,"  but  no 
doubt  our  readers  are  prepared  to  admit 
that  Miss  Diziac  is  the  peer  of  Amy  Low 
ell,  Charlotte  Eaton,  or  "The  Bath"  him 
self. 

OBSERVATION 
SPRING  lines  are  trimmed  with  flowers, 

That's  true  of  bonnets, 
And,  by  the  powers,  it 's  still 

More  true  of  sonnets. 


SORROWS  OF  A  PROF 

BUTTERFLIES 
THIS  breaking  social  butterflies 

On  academic  wheels 
Is  something,  sirs,  that  ever  tries 
The  soul  that  keenly  feels; 

This  feeding  food  for  grub  worms 

To  a  saucy  little  Miss 
That  now,  as  any  fool  can  see, 

Has  shed  the  chrysalis. 

We  like  to  see  'em  flutter 

Round  the  sparks  upon  the  campus, 
And  it  hurts  to  see  their  utter 

Lack  o'  lustre  when  they  lamp  us. 

It  seems  so  sad  to  net  'em 
And  to  pin  'em  down  to  cases 

When  they  look  so  cute  in  Arden 
With  their  fripperies  and  laces. 

THE  EXACT  ATTITUDE 
I  LIE  supine  upon  my  back 

When  I  astronomize; 
The  blissful  ignoramus  prone 

Can  con  the  starry  skies. 


40  TYPES   OF   PAN 

Ah,  lucky  dub,  so  prone  to  lie! 

While  if  I  lie  too  prone, 
I  either  must  geologize 

Or  fracture  my  backbone. 

THE  ESTIVATION  OF  BORES 

HIBERNATION,  they  find  it  good, 

Big  black  bears  in  a  wintry  wood; 

Bores  run  loose  while  the  deep  snows  stay, 

Summer  sends  'em  to  hit  the  hay ; 

Profs  and  pedagogues  activate 

While  all  the  little  studes  jubilate. 

Bears  grow  thinner  when  they  hole  up, 
Sleep  all  winter  with  never  a  sup. 
Profs  grow  fat  under  summer  skies, 
Fed  on  fishes  and  berry  pies. 
Bores  hole  up  on  a  double  ration ; 
Nothing  suits  'em  like  aestivation. 

IN  FLAPPER  TIME 

I  LOVE  the  merry,  merry  spring, 
When  winter  long  has  lasted; 

Now  every  flapper  —  cunning  thing!  — 
Has  some  lad  flappergasted. 


LACRIMyE    RERUM  41 

'T  is  now  they  lose  their  callow  wits, 
'T  is  now  the  purse  string  looses, 

To  buy  those  rich  banana  splits 
For  flappergastric  juices! 

To  PEACE 

HE  serves  thee  ill  that  brings  but  loud 

Lip  service  to  thy  altar, 
And  worships  with  vain  minstrelsy, 

The  sackbut  and  the  psalter. 

For  every  man  must  pay  his  tithe 

Of  blood  and  tears  or  toil: 
Some  pay  it  on  the  stricken  field, 

Some  from  the  guarded  soil. 

JOHNNY  COMES  MARCHING  HOME 

JOHNNY'S  marching  home  to  marry. 

Let  us  hope  he  '11  never  tire 
Of  the  harmless  curtain  lecture, 

And  regret  the  curtain  fire. 


RERUM 

THEY  gave  the  ship  a  name, 
Life  quickened  all  her  frame, 


42  TYPES   OF   PAN 

Speeding  from  builder's  leash  down  sloping  ways; 

Leaping  to  meet  the  sea, 

Scenting  her  liberty, 

Young,  strong  and  made,  it  seemed,  for  length 

of  days. 

While  on  the  sea,  that  Ancient  gray, 
The  age-long  rage  was  lost  in  light  that  day. 

In  vain  would  winds  arise 

To  bay  so  staunch  a  prize, 

In  vain  would  lashing  wave  her  ribs  assail; 

The  shipwright's  cunning  art 

Made  perfect  every  part, 

Where  man  has  built  his  best,  Ocean  must  quail, 

To  crouch  till  man  shall  turn  again 

To  blast  his  conquests  in  that  old  domain. 

So,  in  the  turn  of  time, 

Cradled  upon  the  slime, 

Behold  a  steely  thing  that  lurks  and  waits, 

Glaring  like  basilisk 

With  cold  unwinking  disc, 

Until  it  strikes  the  gallant  ship  it  hates. 

While  in  the  sea,  that  Ancient  gray, 

The  malice  wakes  of  his  primeval  day. 


THE  HUNTING  OF  THE  TURTLE   43 

THE  HUNTING  OF  THE  TURTLE 

THE  ark  of  state  was  sinking  fast 

When  Lansing  tired  of  baling, 
Said  he  to  Woodrow  Wilson,  "Sir, 

Thy  servant's  strength  is  failing. 
Blue  water  hems  us  all  around, 

The  submarines  increase." 
"Fear  not,"  said  Woodrow  Wilson  then; 

"Let  loose  the  dove  of  peace." 

To  Potsdam  and  to  Essen  first 

That  ardent  turtle  flew, 
And  everywhere  the  turtle  went 

The  demonstration  grew. 
They  greeted  her  and  feted  her, 

Berlin  to  Wilhelmshaven; 
You  see,  her  cooing  partly  drowned 

The  croaking  of  the  raven. 

But  when  she  left  her  pleasant  perch 

Upon  the  pickelhaube, 
In  Petrograd  and  Paris  they 

Mistook  her  for  a  Taube. 
In  London  town  they  potted  her, 

And  peppered  her  for  fair; 


44  TYPES  OF  PAN 

She  looped  the  loop  for  Woodrow's  coop 
Remarking,  "C'est  la  guerre." 

The  dove  of  peace  is  out  again; 

They  say  she's  out  to  stay; 
The  dove,  you  see,  may  safely  fly 

Where  eagles  clear  the  way. 
In  London,  Rome,  and  Paris  too 

She  sheds  her  friendly  quills; 
They  really  like  to  hear  her  coo 

When  Deutschland  pays  the  bills. 

THE  MURMAN  COAST 
SAID  a  Murmaid  to  her  Murman 
|       By  the  far-famed  Murman  sea, 
"Have  you  heard,  Lenine  and  Trotzky 
Are  en  route  to  you  and  me?" 

Said  the  Murman  to  his  Murmaid, 
By  that  sea  so  washy-wishy, 

"Was  it  via  Copenhagen? 
Then,  my  dear,  your  tale  is  fishy." 


ON   THE   SPREE  45 

THE  Two  BROOMS 

/  will  sweep  it  with  the  besom  of  destruction.  —  Isa.  XIV.  28 
THE  Hun  he  loved  the  waning  moon 

And  flew  as  witches  fly; 
His  besom  of  destruction 

He  rode  across  the  sky. 
He  shrank  away  from  light  of  day, 

Along  with  bat  and  owl; 
He  hovered  over  sleeping  towns 

And  there  his  work  was  foul. 

The  Briton  loves  the  light  of  day, 

And  flies  as  sea  mews  fly; 
His  besom  of  protection 

Shows  clear  against  the  sky. 
He  long  had  nailed  it  to  the  mast 

And  cleared  the  seven  seas, 
As  late  he  swept  the  filthy  Hun 

And  cleaned  the  midnight  breeze. 

ON  THE  SPREE 

How  dark  and  brown  will  be  the  taste, 

The  dawn  how  dull  and  gray, 
What  time  the  Prussians  sober  up 

At  Berlin  on  the  Spree. 


46  TYPES   OF   PAN 

The  katzenjammer  they  will  have! 

Who  now  await  to  see 
The  knockout  drops  we  have  prepared 

For  Berlin  on  the  Spree. 

AN  ACE 

I  NEED  —  I  take  —  to  wing  my  song, 

One  little  punning  word: 
An  Ace  on  earth,  it  seems  to  me, 

Is  just  a  Hunning  bird. 

A  whir,  a  hum,  a  dart,  a  dip, 

A  zoom,  and  off  again! 
I  wonder,  do  they  hunt  the  Hun 

Upon  that  astral  plane? 

THE  SENSITIVE  SUPERMAN 

THERE  once  was  a  brave  young  Berliner, 
Who  bawled  for  a  bath  and  a  dinner. 

"I  need  soap,"  he  began, 

"On  my  whole  superman 
And  a  barrel  of  kraut  in  my  inner." 

Then  a  prominent  Turkish  official 
Replied  in  a  manner  judicial, 


THE   HYPHENATED   MUSE  47 

"  Do  you  mind  when  they  sniff? 
Look  at  us  you  big  stiff! 
0  Fritz,  you  are  so  superficial!" 

THE  NAVY  WAY 

ON  troubled  waters  oil,  we  thought, 

Was  one  sure  way  to  peace, 
And  every  little  sub  we  caught 

Made  one  more  spot  of  grease. 

THE  HYPHENATED  MUSE 

OH,  Carranza  sent  a  cable-  (on  the  Kaiser's  birthday) 
gram 

To  the  Kaiser  at  his  Pots-  (that's  a  German  palace) 
dam, 

And  it  said,  "Look  out  for  Uncle  (that's  my  north 
ern  neighbor)  Sam, 
For  he's  coming  after  you!" 

Then  the  Kaiser  waved  his  iron  (as  the  papers  have 

it)  hand, 
And  he  danced  a  little  sara-  (that 's  a  Turkish  tango) 

band, 
And  he  said:  "I'm  safe  in  Heli-  (in  the  German  sea) 

goland, 
But  I  thank  my  friend  Carranza." 


48  TYPES   OF   PAN 


WOODROW,  SPARE  THAT  TREATY 

The  Imperial  German  Government  appeals  to  the  Treaty  of  1799 
OH,  that  treaty  of  seventeen  ninety  and  nine 
Was  the  first  of  its  kind  and  the  last  of  its  line ; 
And  he  clung,  did  the  Teut,  to  this  precious  old  page, 
The  last  and  the  best  of  a  rich  heritage. 

All  the  treaties  that  stood  in  the  days  ante-bellum 
Had  gone  to  the  mill  save  this  hoary  old  vellum; 
He  had  pulped,  had  the  Teut,  all  the  treaties  around, 
But  his  love  for  this  stump  was  both  deep  and  pro 
found. 

All  the  parchments  had  perished,  the  sheepskins 

were  torn, 

This  decrepit  old  document  lingered  forlorn; 
But  the  heart  that  was  hard  to  the  ewe  and  the  lamb 
Was  tender  and  true  to  this  doddering  ram. 

Oh,  this  treaty  of  seventeen  ninety  and  nine 
Was  the  last  dusty  flask  of  an  old  vintage  wine, 
And  the  Teut  shed  a  tear  as  he  snuffed  the  aroma, 
The  fragrant  bouquet  of  this  cobwebbed  diploma. 


FOSTER   CHILDREN  49 

THE  GERMAN  WAY 

ALONG  the  roads  where  Roman  legions  sleep 
The  Hapsburg  eagles  and  the  German  sweep; 
They  shall  not  wear  the  glamour  that  they  claim, 
The  pomp  of  Caesar  and  the  Roman  name. 

Italia  stands  and  shall,  embattled  yet, 
Where  silver  eagles  flashed  in  suns  now  set; 
The  eagle's  note,  hear  Roman  Virgil  speak: 
"To  smite  the  proud  and  to  exalt  the  weak." 

The  weak,  the  little  cowering  peoples  know 
The  German  bluster  and  the  German  blow; 
But  let  true  metal  ring,  "They  shall  not  pass!" 
Her  talons  fly  like  shards  of  brittle  glass. 

Where  armies  fester  and  where  states  decay, 
Where  maggot  spies  have  made  a  mellow  prey, 
With  sounding  vans  the  German  vultures  light, 
To  rob  the  jackal  and  defraud  the  kite. 

FOSTER  CHILDREN 

THE  world,  I  think,  was  like  some  idle  mothers: 
We  put  our  young  inventions  out  to  nurse. 

Dame  Germany  would  nurture  them  so  kindly, 
And  take  the  merest  pittance  from  our  purse. 


50  TYPES   OF   PAN 

But  then  the  good  old  dame  grew  somewhat  ad 
dled, 

Declared  she  was  the  mother  of  them  all; 
Yes,  swore  they  were  her  very  own  conceptions  — 

And  how  the  scamps  obeyed  her  beck  and  call ! 

Well,  lately  we  have  shown  'em  that  we  made 
'em  — 

Fritz  U.  Boat  and  Carl  Taube  and  the  rest. 
But  when  we  have  a  young  idea  in  future, 

A  little  home  nutrition  would  be  best. 

WHERE  SHALL  WE  LEAN  ? 

WHISKEY,  wheat,  and  sugar  gone, 

What  supports  remain? 
First  they  took  the  stick  from  life, 

Now  the  staff  and  cane. 

RETROSPECT 

Now  has  our  wrath  been  as  the  tide 

That  stirs  in  its  own  hour, 
And  brushes  dike  or  dune  aside 

With  slow  majestic  power. 
It  sets  before  a  hidden  force, 

It  claims  the  utmost  rod: 


A   GERMAN   NOAH*S   ARK  51 

Nor  ruth  nor  rage  avail  to  stem 
The  tide  that  moves  with  God. 

Now  have  our  millions  moved  as  one 

That  moves  because  he  must; 
Our  foes  were  as  the  driven  spray, 

The  rain,  the  spiteful  gust. 
Be  this  our  pride,  our  single  boast, 

We  swept  across  the  sea 
A  still,  resistless  tidal  host 

To  peace,  with  Liberty. 

A  GERMAN  NOAH'S  ARK 

The  German  Slieep 
THE  German  sheep,  dear  children,  grew 

To  more  than  common  size; 
Their  wool  was  long  and  silky  too, 

And  fell  about  their  eyes; 
And  thus  they  did  not  see  so  well  — 
I  'm  also  told  they  could  not  smell 

The  Prussian  Goat 
The  Prussian  goat,  my  little  dears, 

That  wild  and  skippish  beast, 
Conducted  sheep  from  east  to  west, 

And  then  from  west  to  east; 


52  TYPES   OF   PAN 

And  when  the  sheep  sat  down  to  rest 
He  told  them  of  that  awful  pest 

The  Russian  Bear 
The  Russian  bear,  dear  children  used, 

To  shamble  round  the  fold, 
To  ask  for  little  lambs  to  eat, 

And  scare  their  mothers  cold; 
But  now  the  bear  has  other  duties 
To  catch  the  Bolsheviki  cooties. 

THE  SOCIAL  HOUR 

BETWEEN  the  dark  and  the  daylight, 
When  the  night  was  beginning  to  lower, 

Came  a  pause  in  the  trench  occupations 
That  was  known  as  the  social  hour. 

As  the  Russian  stars  were  rising 
And  the  sun  was  beginning  to  sink, 

Then  the  samovars  unlimbered, 
All  laden  with  fragrant  drink. 

Then  the  train  of  Russ  tea  wagons 
Went  out  to  the  hungry  Huns, 


MIRAGE  53 


And  the  muzhik  laughed  at  the  Teuton  chaff 
As  the  Hun  and  he  crossed  buns. 

It  was  beautiful  but  not  lasting, 

For  the  pink  tea  and  the  buns 
Were  nothing  to  fasting  millions 

Of  horrible,  hungry  Huns. 

So  they  seized  on  the  pink  tea  wagons 

And  the  beautiful  samovars, 
While  the  reds  walked  back  with  never  a  snack, 

'Neath  the  glittering  Russian  stars. 

MIRAGE 

The  fighting  was  suspended  owing  to  a  mirage,  but  upon  this  lift 
ing  our  offensive  continued.  —  British  report. 

STILL  waters  glimmering  between  still  palms 
Or  ruffled  dark  by  flaws  of  scented  air, 

Vine  tendrils,  fern,  the  soft  green  living  things 
A  desert  dream  holds  out  to  travelers  there. 

What  wonder  if  the  fitful  firing  broke, 
And  quiet  brooded  on  the  burning  sands, 

While  eye  and  heart  yearned  towards  that  faery  isle 
As  men  to  peace  in  other  greener  lands. 


54  TYPES  OF  PAN 

THE  PRUNE  AND  THE  PRISM 

A  philological  romance 
SHE  was  only  a  humble  prune, 

While  he  was  a  prism  gay ; 
She  loved  him  for  his  gaudy  hues, 
And  he  called  her  his  souffle. 

Back  they  came  from  the  honeymoon, 
To  a  life  of  sighs  and  schisms. 

None  of  you  knows  the  original  prune, 
But  you  all  know  prunes  and  prisms. 

CHIN  QUE  SONG 

Obiit,  Chicago,  June  7,  1916 
THERE  's  a  subtle  necromancy, 
Like  the  poppy  to  my  fancy, 
In  your  soft  celestial  name, 
Chin  Que  Song, 

Like  some  potent  anodyne, 
Lotus  flower  or  honeyed  wine, 
Or  the  heavy  scent  of  sandal, 
Chin  Que  Song; 

So  I  hope  you  get  the  odor 
In  your  heavenly  pagoda 


HOOK  AND  LINE  55 

Of  the  joss  that  I  am  burning, 
Chin  Que  Song, 

As  I  name  you  an  Immortal, 
Though  you  never  crossed  the  portal 
Of  an  Academic  Hah1, 
Chin  Que  Song. 

May  the  little  gods  of  jade 
Be  propitious  to  your  shade, 
In  a  tea  house  in  Nirvana, 
Chin  Que  Song. 

HOOK  AND  LINE 

I  LOVE  to  fish  with  little  squibs, 
Or  bait  my  hook  with  captions, 

Now  grubby  little  jingle  worms, 
Now  whirligig  contraptions. 

It  is  a  wary  trout  I  feed, 

To  tickle  him  is  work  indeed. 

A  hook  without  a  bait  is  vain 

As  rimes  without  a  reason: 
Good  quips  in  May  fall  flat  in  June, 

The  fly  must  fit  the  season. 
How  sad  to  fish  for  goggle  eyes 
And  never  never  get  a  rise. 


56  TYPES  OF  PAN 

MY  VISITANT 

I  FIND  her  daily  at  my  doors, 
This  flaunting,  haunting  hussy, 

A  welcome  guest  in  idle  hours, 
A  bore  when  one  is  fussy. 

She  pries  and  peers,  she  sobs  and  sneers, 

She  has  an  ear  for  tattle, 
She  prates  of  petty  pilferings 

Or  tells  tall  tales  of  battle. 

You  court  her  favors  and  she  sulks, 

You  flee  her  and  she  follows. 
Her  faith  is  weak  when  truth  you  speak, 

The  lies  she  always  swallows. 

I  sometimes  try  to  put  her  by, 

But  yet,  I  must  confess  it. 
I  grumble  with,  I  pine  without, 

My  newspaper.  God  bless  it! 

DIVERS  CONCEITS 

IMAGINE  all  the  fishes  in  a  parti-colored  maze, 
The  mottled  blue  fish  gazing  at  the  red  and  yellow 
rays; 


LINES  TO  A  ROAST  WATER  FOWL   57 

The  scarlet  whale  lamenting  for  his  former  decent 

drab; 
The  shark  marooned  regarding  purple  patches  on  the 

crab; 

The  groper  groping  blindly  in  a  cloud  of  indigo; 
The  cod  in  dizzy  colors  overcome  with  vertigo; 
For  this  is  just  what  happened  when  that  merchant 

submarine, 
All  laden  down  with  dye  stuffs,  by  a  British  ship  was 

seen. 
The  cautious  German  sailor  men  obeyed  the  warning 

gun, 
But  though  the  ship  was  hard  and  fast  the  dyes  were 

bound  to  run. 
The  cuttle  fish  quite  pop  eyed,  and  with  envy  green 

beside, 
Beheld  the  hues  this  super-squid  shot  out  upon  the 

tide. 

LINES  TO  A  ROAST  WATER  FOWL 

AT  dawn  you  slept  upon  a  stone, 
All  melancholy  and  alone, 
A-dreaming  of  the  summer's  joys, 
Your  mallard  mate,  the  pleasant  ploys 
By  False  Presque  Isle. 


58  TYPES   OF   PAN 

How  false,  alas,  I  weep  to  tell  it! 

Woe  worth  the  gun  that  sped  the  pellet! 

It  was  not  mine  —  I  do  but  dine 

On  thy  reliques  by  False  Presque  Isle. 

And  yet,  sweet  fowl,  thy  end  was  blest 
Like  finest  gold  you  stood  the  test 
Of  shrewdest  flame  and  made  a  roast 
That  Brillat  Savarin  would  boast, 
By  False  Presque  Isle. 

'T  is  hard,  dear  bird,  for  you  to  lack 
The  still  bay  girt  with  tamarack ; 
But  know  that  you  were  duly  prized, 
With  onion  wept  and  fletcherized 
By  False  Presque  Isle. 

WONDERS  OF  THE  WEST 
Dedicated  to  John  Burroughs 
IN  far-off  California, 

Where  truth  is  passing  strange, 
The  ostriches  began  to  pine 
And  sicken  on  the  range. 

At  last  a  fine  young  cock  expired ; 
They  called  the  local  quacks, 


BALLADE   D'AUTREFOIS  59 

Who  said  the  symptoms  pointed  to 
Ten  penny  nails  and  tacks. 

When  through  his  ventral  cavity 

A  probe  was  deeply  driv, 
They  found  the  late  lamented  bird 

Had  gobbled  down  a  fliv. 

An  antidote  was  found,  and  now 

Henritis  rarely  kills. 
Each  ostrich  farmer  dopes  his  pets 

With  little  flivver  pills. 

BALLADE  D'AUTREFOIS 

WHERE  are  the  maids  of  other  days 

When  you  and  I  were  young?  — 
Such  maids  as  Shelley  never  knew 

And  Byron  never  sung. 
Villon,  perhaps,  and  those  old  chaps 

Who  knew  that  smiles  bewitchin' 
Might  make  a  scullery  divine 

Or  glorify  a  kitchen. 

Where  are  those  humble  goddesses 
Of  mop  and  broom  or  skillet 


60  TYPES   OF   PAN 

That  never  lost  a  character 
And  seldom  changed  a  billet? 

All  vanished  like  the  Buffalo, 
The  modest  cost  of  living; 

Their  proxy  is  a  doxy  in 
This  age  of  flim  and  flivving. 

ON  THE  DRY  SEAS 

WONDER  why  that  Flying  Dutchman  never  flies  to 
day, 

Lingering  in  some  far  offing  where  lost  luggers  stay. 

Wonder  would  our  jackies  weaken  if  he  should  ap 
pear; 

If  the  gobs  should  meet  the  goblins  would  n't  it  be 
queer? 

Wonder  why  that  old  sea  serpent  keeps  himself  so 

dark; 
Dropping  ash  cans  on  his  coco  —  that  would  be  a 

lark! 
If  our  navy  ever  sights  him,  that  old  lobster  called 

the  kraken, 
Bet  a  bomb  he  will  be  potted  or  uncommon  badly 

shaken ! 


TO   CENTRAL  61 


Wonder  if  there  is  a  reason  why  that  scaly  humbug 
vanished, 

Why  the  merman  and  the  mermaid  and  the  Hol 
lander  are  banished. 

Was  it  grog  that  made  'em  see  things,  have  the  dry 
seas  lost  their  wonder? 

Did  old  Davy  close  his  locker  when  John  Barleycorn 
went  under? 

To  CENTRAL 

THAT  time  you  were  so  slow 

And  I  did  twit  you, 
Central,  I  never  knew 

The  flu  had  hit  you. 
Shame  on  me  cussing  so! 
Central,  I  could  not  know! 

Hearing  your  distant  sneeze 

Filled  me  with  pity: 
Take,  Central,  if  you  please, 

This  little  ditty. 
Still  gripped  by  influenza, 
Clutch  at  this  kind  cadenza. 


For  when  you  start  to  buzz 
I  may  be  as  I  was. 


62  TYPES   OF  PAN 

THE  LOST  ART 

DOES  it  make  you  tired,  sirs,  amateurish  stuff, 
Laymen,  sirs,  and  ministers,  trying  to  be  tough? 
Business  men  and  senators,  editors  and  .  .  .  well, 
Everybody's  stock  in  trade  is  poor  old  "Hell!" 

Not  that  we're  particular,  out  to  play  the  prude,1 
If  they  only  knew,  sirs,  what  is  really  rude. 
Cussing  was  an  art,  sirs,  out  hi  Idaho; 
Ever  have  a  sheep  herd  tell  you  where  to  go? 

Lumberjacks  in  Michigan  —  holy  Mackinaw!  — 
How  the  wicked  words  flew  flicking  on  the  raw! 
Let  us  save  our  breath,  sirs,  let  us  be  polite; 
Or,  if  we  must  cuss,  sirs,  do  the  damn  thing  right! 

REROUTE  'EM 

WE  now  demand,  with  all  our  soul, 
Combined  with  government  control, 

Deflection; 

For  ^lolus,  the  traffic  king, 
And  Boreas  are  out  to  sting 

Our  section. 


SOL  INVICTUS  63 

Now  McAdoo  or  even  Newt 
Could  find  some  better  way  to  route 

These  blizzards; 
Refrigerator  lines  if  pooled 
Could  end  this  tie-up  that  has  cooled 

Our  gizzards. 

The  sunny  south  must  now  kick  in 
And  start  to  take  its  Medicine 

Hat  weather; 
The  situation  can  be  met 
If  weather  sharps  will  only  get 

Together. 

SOL  INVICTUS 

OLD  SOL  still  keeps  his  ancient  thirst, 
Still  westward  steers  to  slake  it ; 

Briny  his  nightcap  as  at  first, 
Dry  waves  can  never  shake  it. 

Though  service  takes  him  overseas, 

Old  Sol,  that  thirsty  rover, 
Pickled  on  brine  and  unabashed 

Sinks  westward  half  seas  over. 


64  TYPES  OF   PAN 


LOVE  o'  TREES 

PINES  that  keep  the  sun  from  me, 

Thronging  round  my  roof, 
Dusky  shy  and  dumb  to  me, 

Near  and  yet  aloof. 
I  have  seen  the  starry  web, 

Flung  about  your  tops, 
Heard  your  voices  rise,  and  ebb 

As  the  night  wind  drops. 
Lately  I  have  slaved  for  you, 

Fought  the  forest  fire, 
Saved  the  cool  disdain  of  you 

From  a  hot  desire. 
I  have  worn  the  yoke  for  you, 

As  a  faithful  Druid, 
Poured  libations  out  to  you, 

Pails  of  Huron  fluid. 

Poets'  hearts  have  yearned  to  oak, 
Ached  for  birch  or  pine: 

Poet  back  was  never  broke 
As  this  back  o'  mine! 


BACK   TO    NATURE  65 


JULY,  1918,  AT  BELL,  MICHIGAN 

I  DO  not  mind  the  gnats  that  tweak  like  devils'  tongs 

hereafter ; 
I  do  not  mind  the  bats  that  squeal  and  scratch  along 

the  rafter; 
I  do  not  mind  the  moths  that  drive  like  shock  troops 

at  our  lamp, 
The  mice  that  in  our  kitchen  thrive  and  riot  there 

and  ramp ; 
Mosquitoes  of  a  super  size  have  scarcely  power  to 

tease ; 
I  'm  Uncle  Toby  to  the  flies,  though  when  were  flies 

like  these? 
St.  Francis,  I,  to  all  the  bugs  and  vermin  here  at 

Bell. 
For  when  the  Hun  is  on  the  run,  a  man  could  laugh 

in  hell. 

BACK  TO  NATURE 

I  MET  a  belle  of  Bell,  Mich, 

From  out  the  berry  patch; 
'  And  I  admired  her  luscious  pick 
As  she  my  whopping  catch. 


66  TYPES   OF   PAN 

0  were  we  on  the  Boul,  Mich, 
Madonna  of  the  pails, 

How  hick  would  be  your  buckets, 
What  caviar  my  whales! 

SPINNING  OUR  SPAN 

TAKE  the  string  and  wind  it  neatly, 
Poise  the  top  and  peg  it  featly 

In  a  giddy  drop; 
Watch  it  circle  for  a  stance, 
Stand  and  bore  there  in  a  trance, 

Sleeping  like  a  top. 

See  it  wake  and  start  to  stutter, 
Wobble  in  confusion  utter, 

Topple  then  and  lie; 
Like  a  man  that  spins  and  whirs 
In  a  rut  and  never  stirs 

Till  he  wakes  and  dies. 

OUR  CLOVEN  SPOOFS 

A  POME  is  very  like  a  ham, 
The  commas  like  the  spice, 

Some  like  the  porcine  flavor  best, 
Some  think  the  cloves  are  nice. 


THE   BACHELOR   CLAM  67 

Our  poems,  too,  are  like  a  ham 
Small  matter,  sure,  for  boasting; 

Drop  comma  cloves,  or  add  to  taste, 
And,  reader,  do  the  roasting. 

A  SNAPSHOT 

To  Friend  Wife 
WHAT  were  a  negative  like  me 

Without  a  sun  like  you? 
If  I  turn  out  a  positive, 

You  make  the  light,  you  do! 

THE  BACHELOR  CLAM 

"Sn!"  shudders  he,  "it's  a  shy  sad  life, 

In  our  sheltered  shuttered  shells, 
And  I  sometimes  sigh  for  a  sly,  shad  wife 
From  the  shimmering,  shining  swell. 

"But  I  love  my  shelf  on  the  shingly  shoal, 
Where  the  spent  waves  slide  and  hiss, 
And  I  would  not  climb  from  the  shielding  slime 
Of  my  life  of  shingle  bliss. 

"No,  I  would  not  gad  with  a  mad  sea  shad 

Nor  nest  with  a  mollusc  mate, 
To  long  for  the  selfish  life  I  led 
As  a  shellfish  celibate." 


68  TYPES   OF   PAN 

HALF-TOLD  TALES 

So  many  kiss  to-day, 

And  die  to-morrow: 
And  is  remembrance  sweet, 

Or  sweet  and  sorrow? 

For  some  say,  only  sweet; 

And  sweet  and  bitter,  some  .  .  . 
Ah,  who  can  end  the  tale, 

When  all  the  dead  are  dumb! 

PIERRE  L'HERMITE 

WHAT  time  I  fish  with  rod  and  reel 
Along  the  reeds  of  False  Presque  Isle, 
I  watch  the  hermit  of  the  place, 
A  Great  Blue  Heron  he,  by  race, 
We  call  him  Peter,  or  Pierre, 
Because  he  eats  the  frogs  'round  there. 

Aloof  from  care  or  strife  or  fear, 
Upon  one  leg  he  poses  near; 
But  let  a  frog  so  much  as  hop, 
He  seems  all  neck  and  bill  and  crop. 
A  whirlwind,  he,  what  time  he  turns 
His  mind  to  practical  concerns. 


THAT   AMBIGUOUS   BIRD  69 

Fact  is,  suspicion  will  persist, 
He  is  a  sort  of  egotist. 
He  has  no  chick  nor  child  nor  egg, 
But  knows  and  shows  he  has  a  leg. 
He  keeps  his  bachelor  estate, 
Nor  ever  seems  to  miss  a  mate. 

He'll  watch  me  peevishly  reel  back 

My  empty,  vain  Dowagiac. 

Though  for  his  thoughts  I  cannot  vouch, 

He  seems  to  chide  me  for  my  grouch ; 

As  who  should  say,  "What's  life,  old  chap? 

A  leg,  a  log,  a  frog,  a  nap." 

THAT  AMBIGUOUS  BIRD 

IN  the  National  Guard  we  would  carry  a  gun, 
We  would  bleed  for  the  national  banner; 

But  our  patience  is  done  with  that  national  pun: 
Pray  can  it,  0  National  Canner! 

When  handled  by  Noah  and  Webster,  you  see, 

The  chicken  was  merely  a  bird ; 
But  old  Noah  to-day  would  be  shocked,  I  dare  say, 

At  this  sly  reprehensible  word. 


70  TYPES  OF  PAN 

It  is  good,  as  a  rule,  for  a  smile  on  the  Boul, 

Or  a  laugh  at  a  tea  or  a  dinner; 
If  you  serve  it  up  raw  it  will  win  a  guffaw: 

Condemn  it,  all-powerful  Tinner. 

Pray,  ban  and  taboo  it,  cold-pack  it  or  stew  it; 

The  wits  of  the  peepul  may  quicken; 
And  your  name  will  be  blest  if  you  heed  our  behest, 

And  put  a  quietus  on  "chicken." 

SHEBA 

Chicago  could  be  a  queen  qfSheba,  spread  out  beside  her  waters. 

—  Editorial,  Chicago  Tribune 

'NEATH  sable  sylvias  she  lies 

Spread  out  beside  her  waters, 
'Neath  wisps  diaphanous  of  murk, 
The  fairest  of  earth's  daughters. 

Some  day  that  fuscous  veil  will  lift, 

Some  Solomon  unborn 
Will  see  our  Sheba  as  she  is 

On  some  September  morn. 

Ah!  speed  that  fair  epiphany 

When  Middle- Western  eyes 
Will  see  those  hidden  beauty  spots 

That  now  the  East  denies. 


CHANSON   DE   PUNG  71 


CHANSON  DE  PUNG 

PRATE  not  to  me  of  skate  nor  ski, 
Nor  bob  nor  sleigh  nor  cutter; 

No  western  tongue  nor  bard  has  sung 
The  word  I  love  to  utter. 

Now  heed  the  call,  Vermonters  all, 

And  sing  it  with  a  will, 
The  old  time  ballad  of  the  pung, 

The  pung  we  used  to  fill. 

"  Come  hitch  old  Roxy  to  the  pung, 

And  let  the  wild  bells  jingle 
We'll  skim  the  crust  for  twenty  mile 
With  every  nerve  a-tingle. 

"  Up  hill  and  down,  by  field  and  town, 

And  how  that  critter  races; 
At  her  best  licks  old  Roxy  kicks 
The  snow  balls  in  our  faces." 

Thou  good  old  pung,  thy  shafts  are  sprung, 

Thy  runners  rust,  I  trow, 
But  still  I  praise  those  punging  days 

That  all  Vermonters  know. 


72  TYPES   OF   PAN 

NOAH,  1919 

IF  good  old  Noah  were  here  to-day, 
He  would  not  build  in  the  olden  way; 
He  would  not  hammer  and  peg  an  ark ; 
He'd  hie  to  the  back  yard  after  dark, 
And  dig  and  delve  in  the  cool  dark  ground 
A  cellar  an  hundred  cubits  round. 

And  when  that  cellar  was  delved  and  digged, 
The  bins  all  laid  and  the  tackle  rigged, 
He  'd  hoist  to  rest  in  the  cool  dark  ground 
The  critters  he  loved  from  the  whole  world  round. 
He'd  lower  the  demijohns,  two  by  two, 
And  the  little  fat  kegs  of  Milwaukee  brew, 
The  squat  black  bottles  with  squirrel  inside, 
The  little  pinch  bottles  from  over  the  tide, 
The  magnums  marching  in  stately  pairs, 
The  flasks  in  couples  with  monkish  airs, 
These  and  more  like  a  chubby  mole, 
Noah  would  stow  in  his  cubby  hole. 

Honest  Noah!  that  good  old  man! 

What  would  he  do  when  the  drought  began? 

Would  he  pity  and  let  them  in, 

Shem  and  Japhet  and  all  his  kin? 


NOAH,    1919  73 


Could  he,  fresh  from  the  flowing  spout, 
Watch  poor  Ham  when  his  tongue  hung  out? 

Well,  I  wager  he  'd  pause  and  think 
Twice  at  least  on  the  cellar's  brink. 
"Burn  their  hides,"  he  would  likely  say, 
"Why  did  they  go  for  to  vote  that  way? 
Going  dry  in  the  flood  was  pie 
To  keeping  wet  when  the  world  is  dry." 


CAMBRIDGE  .  MASSACHUSETTS 
U    .    S    .    A 


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